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Topic: [Supers] Powers That Be (Read 40172 times)

Cities don't sleep. Even in the middle of the night, there's always something going on. Baton Rouge is no exception. Just like the mighty Mississippi, it never stops. It doesn't matter what time of night it is, there's always something to do. Clubs and bars don't close until almost dawn, and there's always somewhere to get something to eat. Even if you don't know where you're going, you can get there, because the buses run all night. Buses were interesting places, you could meet anyone on one. Anyone at all.

March 8, 2018. 4:18 am. Uptown bus.

(OOC: Just a bit of introduction among chars before things start popping. Let 'er rip!)

Sophia rested her head against the smooth cool metal of the storage lockers, letting her tired eyes take in the entirety of the Baton Rouge bus terminal (I've really been there!!!). The floor looked two weeks since it's last mopping, and the counters a month since they were given a good polish. Most of the other travelers looked as tired and strung out as she felt. She felt her pocket, finding the familiar comfort of her pack of cigarettes. It was a nasty habit she picked up crossing the Pacific. It did calm the nerves a bit, and at times like this, it gave her something to do with her hands and her lips. She struck a match and lit one of the smokes from her half crumpled pack.

'Why in the hell am I here?' she wondered to herself, the workings of a nuclear reactor sometimes seemed simple compared to the chaos of bus routes and terminal schedules. At least it wasn't New Orleans, she heard that the terminals down there were still a wreck from Katrina.

Leave me alone- I'm a freak, leave me alone- make it easy for yourself'everywhere I go they all stare, I don't understand why they carethey stare at me all in black, and when I turn they stare at my backall these things can't, all these things don't...let me go.

The music could be heard from ten feet away, but that was fine with Poe. He didn't like people much anyway, especially the ones that looked at him with disgust or fear. They had no more an idea who he really was than he did.

He perched on the back of a bus bench, his trench coat flapping in the breeze behind him. His long black hair was whipping around his head and the orange glow of his clove cigarette illuminated his features in odd ways. He looked more like a gargoyle of a bird-of-prey than a man. He stretched out his arms and stood up on the back of the bench. The music continued to pound in his head.

"Why" he thought "and does it really matter anyway?" This was the only place he knew. The police dropped him off here a few days ago, shortly after he was released from the hospital. They had as much an idea who he was as anyone, which turned out to be none.He had no idea what to do next, nor where to go. The staff at the hospital were kind enough to buy him a one way bus ticket, and he cashed that in already. "I didn't know where to go anyway..." he considered his options carefully. "This seems as good a place as any." He tossed the cigarette but onto the ground and stepped on it as he lowered himself from the bench.

"What I really need is a drink..." he mumbled.

Logged

"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." ~Henry L Mencken

Jader sat off to once side of the terminal, a small brown bag, the kind people'd used to bring lunches in, in one hand and his energy drink in the other. The car was outta gas again, and as much as he hated it, he was back to running jobs for Johnnie.

The jobs weren't so bad, considering, but it'd still be some time before he could make some real money seperating tourists from their money. Fools down here from Kansas and the like, to get wasted and screwed on Marti Gras.

Speaking of fools, here's another one, standing up on the back of a bench with his music blaring. Probably drink himself stupid in some club and was heading home, his wallet is about worthless, having spent most of his cash on the booze more than likely.

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

Sugarbear strolled the quaint streets of Baton Rouge looking for a bar. He had arrived in New Orleans harbor a night ago, and after paying his docking fees, and taking a bus several hours north, he set out to explore Louisiana's capital city. He stopped briefly at a chinese take-out place for garlic shrimp (not that good), and then bought a beigner for dessert (quite good!) from a street vendor who didnt speak a word of english.

Proceeding with his late night stroll, he watched as tourists and locals chose their nightly haunts, and listened to street music blare form some local festival.

Finally, he seemed to settle on a place. "Hankerin' for a Pankerin'", an unfortunately named, neon-lit establishment, which seemed to be attracting the largest crowd, would have to do, Greg thought, as he ran his hand through his unruly hair, and stepped up to the curb. A beefy bouncer was about to speak to Sugarbear, when the huge man, spied another bar hopeful behind Greg, and suddenly ignored Sugarbear compeltely. About to walk inside, already hoping the place's bartenders could whip up a good mojito, Greg briefly turned to take a look at what had distracted the bouncer. Greg had seen his share of freaks in Hollywood, during his days as a stuntman and surfer, and the man he was eyeing now, could have walked off a set, Greg mused. A strange creature, trenchcoat, long sable hair, bewildered pale visage..yes, Creature...a gargoyle, that was as good a name as any for the man Greg and the bouncer were now examining.

"Evenin'! Nice night for a mojito", Greg flippantly smiled at the stranger, and proceeded to enter the musty bar, his eye immediately casting about from one nubile young lady to the next.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Michael glanced at his wristwatch, a cheap digital thing that always seemed to make time itself a burden. Bus should be here any minute, he thought. The priest felt impatient. It had happened again today, in the confessional. This time it was more than a mere suggestion or emotion, but a solid thought: [I can't tell him, it's too much to forgive.] It startled him at first, but he quickly was able to separate the thought from the spoken voice. If not for the confessional screen, the poor young man on the other side would have been wary by his confessor's look. Michael recovered, though. "I am not here to judge you," he had said in the calmest voice he could muster. "I can't break the seal of confession even for a crime. This is between you and God." After a tense moment, the boy spat out his sin like venom. It wasn't anything terrible or shocking, but enough to shake the boy. For the first time, Fr. Michael was thankful for his... gift.

He checked the time again. 4:18. It was hardly an ideal hour to be out, but a parishoner on her last legs needed Last Rites at the hospital. Michael had seen enough death that it no longer fazed him. The recurring ability, however, did faze him. Badly. He rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. No rest for the weary, he thought gloomily. The priest reached into his cassock's pocket and dug out his old rosary. Perhaps Our Lady might give some comfort. Leaning against the terminal lockers, a few yards away from a woman smoking, Father Michael O'Rourke crossed himself and began to pray.

No hand to scribe, the sinking sickness I have seen,no face to judge until you've been the monster I have been,to hunger is noble, where beauty is silent sleep,my hunger is noble, but my pain is driven deep.

He looked over to the door of the bar. "A drink sounds really good" he mumbled. He stepped away from the bench as he noticed a priest sitting close by praying.

"It'll do no good old man, she's not listening anymore" he said under his breath. He looked around once more, just to be sure no one heard him. He noticed a woman standing against the lockers of the terminal smoking, but he was sure she was too far off to hear him. Another man was a bit closer, but he seemed more interested in something else. By the look of him it probably wasn't good...

Watching at the windowthe ledge which we providethere's someone up above methere's someone scratching softlylittle monsters in the chimneyall black and stained with sootcome creeping to my bedroomand lead me here to sleep

He moved quickly across the terminal, staring at the large bouncer as he closed the distance between them. "Better not get in my way..." he grumbled under his breath. He reached the front of the bar and stood directly in front of the bouncer. He glared at him for a long moment.Satisfied the dull-witted thug had not much to say Poe side stepped him easily and walked into the loud trendy bar.

"Couldn't be a regular place, could it? d**n freak hangout..." he spat as he tried to reach the bar.

« Last Edit: February 21, 2007, 01:02:30 AM by the Wanderer »

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"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." ~Henry L Mencken

Anat ran through the street towards the bus terminal. She was drunk with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She counted some money out from the crumpled bills in her pocket. Last thing she wanted was to miss another bus. She almost plowed into a man in her preoccupation. The night air was damp and uncomfortable, Strands of her long brown hair strayed from the clip that held it all back. She approached the counter half out of breath and asked for a ticket. She cursed, having just missed it. Settling for a later bus she took another drag on her cigarette before dropping it on the floor and putting the butt out with her foot. She pulled her pack out and shook it looking for another but realized it was empty. Severely ticked, she threw the empty container at a nearby garbage can and made her way for the bar. She clicked her lighter open and closed on the bar counter until she caught the bartender's eye. "A pack of smokes, a shot of vodka, and a beer." She clicked her lighter again. The bartender raised a brow."Drinking alone?" he questioned as he poured the shot, grabbed the cigs and the beer. "Yeah, rough night. Made my way across the whole d**n city only to get my ass dumped." She took the shot of vodka and slammed the empty shot glass down on the bar with a thud. He handed her the other two requests and she handed him the money with a wink. "Thanks for talking sugar, but I've gotta run." she scooped up the beer and cigarettes She lit up her cancer stick and snapped her lighter shut with a click as she made her way towards the terminal. She would have loved to chat with people, maybe find a man to take home but this place was full of oddballs and she still had some standards. She smiled to herself. Alcohol always brought out her bad side. Anatiel paused by a garbage can and chugged her beer and tossed the bottle into the bin before finding a place to sit and wait for the bus. Tomorrow was going to be hell. She'd probably lose her job showing up hungover. She plopped down on a bench, her head swam and her face felt warm. She focused on the back of a preacher's head to make the station stop spinning.

Whum whum whum whum The sound of the bus' wheels spinning against pavement was soft, yet most definitely there in the background as it drew ever closer to the terminal. John rested his head against the seat in front of him, fighting against vague vestiges of sleep. He didn't want to be up this early, but when a potential business partner sends you tickets for an overnight flight and a bus ride, you don't generally refuse. Especially when the plane ticket was first class.

First class sleep still isn't as pleasant as my own bed. the self-employed programmer thought to himself and he stretched for what had to be the fifth time in the past three minutes. Hopefully they would get there soon, so he could get this meeting over with and get to the hotel. As if on cue, the driver yelled back at him, the only passenger this early in the morning.

As Michael's fingers moved steadily down the beads, he began to watch the people around him. When he was a boy, his mother always told him that staring at folk was rude, but Mikey came to find that watching people go about their daily lives often showed kernals of truth, holiness, things people didn't even know they had. It seemed to steady him, too, which was exactly what the priest needed.

It was an odd crowd to be sure, but probably not so strange for this hour in uptown Baton Rouge. There was the girl on the lockers, her smoke wafting in his direction. She looked tired, perhaps confused. Another woman nearly ran into him, rushing past Michael to the ticket station. She smelt strongly of alcohol, another not-so-unusual thing for a place such as this. Over on the bench, a muscular man holding a sack lunch and a drink, apparently engaged in some people watching of his own. Michael followed his glance over to the goth punk with the music player. His music - or so he assumed that noise was supposed to be - had been blaring for sometime now, almost seeming a staple of the bus terminal itself. The kid stood up and glanced around. Michael's eyes darted back to the floor as the kid glanced at him. He seemed to mutter something to himself before heading across the street, probably to the bar.

Mikey was watching the goth saunter away when someone caught his eye. There, a little ways from the ticket booth. Michael was surprised he didn't see him before, being so close by. He wasn't quite old, not quite young - ageless, almost. Brown hair was neatly combed across his forehead. He wore a plain gray suit, white shirt, and simple necktie, looking all the world like any other businessman in the nation. The only thing that seemed to stand out was the way he stared. The man's gaze was intense, almost statuesque, seeming to bore a hole in the back of the goth's coat. Michael got the feeling that there was something deeply wrong here.

The priest clutched the rosary in his pocket as his mind raced. Should he do something? Was there really anything wrong to begin with? Strange things had been happening lately, maybe even hallucinations. This could be a symptom of some brain problem or chemical imbalance. Maybe he should go back to the hospital... No, something was definately wrong, or at the least strange. Keep cool, Mikey, he calmed himself. Real level-headed. At the least he could distract him, maybe catch something that way. What are you, CIA? he scolded himself. Still, if this guy really was some sort of threat to the goth kid, someone would have to play Saint Michael and intercede. Sancte Michael, ora pro nobis, he prayed quickly before walking up to the businessman.

"Excuse me, my son," Michael said in his most priestly voice, "but have you given thought to your Lenten obligations? Tomorrow is Friday, and the Church does ask us to obstain from meat." The businessman's attention still seemed focused on the goth. Before he could take a breath, Fr. Michael stepped in front of him. "Are you alright, child? You seem troubled." Sweat formed quickly under Michael's cassock. The moment seemed as tense as any he'd experienced...

The business man seemed annoyed. He peered over Mikey's shoulder, watching as the goth went into the bar. "I'm an atheist, priest. Lent means nothing to me," he said curtly. "And I was fine until you came over here. Kindly go away." He stepped around Mikey, looking angry.

Mikey caught a flash from him. It was a jumble, and he was fairly sure he was only getting pieces of a longer thought. [d**ned interfering... Seen me now. Why always public places? Not supposed to know... Can't get him alone. Jay will... d**n them both.]

After downing his fourth rapid-fire mojito, a little dancing to the jarring club music blasting from countless speakers, and a woman's phone number on a little piece of paper, which read, 1-800-@!#$ you loser (at least she had the decency to write it in lip stick), Sugarbear was ready to call it a night.

Glancing around, while humming Ludacris' latest nonsensical "hit", Greg spied the terribly unnatural looking guy he had noticed at the door earlier. Hmm, he must have just got back from a shooting(heh), Greg thought, an actor perhaps, or if not, the kind of guy who would at least have the best drugs in town. Either way, he's worth a look-see, Greg thought, as he sauntered over. He found the rest of the bar patrons, either too young to chat up or deliriously loaded.

Making his way through the bleached-haired mob, he approached the bar, and just then realized, that he himslef, was loaded, not having eaten a bite since he got off the bus.

In mid-thought, as he neared the Gargoyle of Baton Rouge, a creature even more horrid than the tall goth approached, cutting off his escape route. A woman, perhaps the least attractive one he had ever seen, was slobbering her way toward him, and licking her lips, one eye closed, one eye winking.

Oh, oh, had to think fast. Hard to do...that.

Greg suddenly whipped around and grabbed the goth in a meaty bearhug from behind.

"Lover, shall we go? I know a quiet spot across the street in the bus terminal, Greg announced loudly to the man he now had his arms wrapped around.

The wanton lush, suddenly stopped, a look of dissapointment on her boozy, swollen face, and turned around again. It worked!

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"If you value your manhood, I'd let go" Poe growled. He was taken by surprise, but not rattled. Not much caused him stress lately. His life had taken him well past stress and into something else in the past few weeks. His mind swam, the horrid sound of what these people called "music" was just plain painful.Struggling slightly against the man holding him he spoke louder. "Care to take this outside, freak?"He hoped it was a good idea, challenging a complete stranger to a fight. He wasn't sure if he knew how to fight, let alone do it well. He figured most people would avoid him, they had so far. But this guy was just plain nuts! Out of nowhere just up and grabbing him! And the lover comment....wait, lover?

Poe scanned the room just in time to see the drunken beast turning away and heading for her next victim. She found one, and was following the poor boy towards the men's room. He cleared his throat. "She's gone, you can let go now..."

Settled with both feet firmly on the floor he turned to look at his "assailant". A sun-scorched surfer boy..."Just my luck, the one person who notices me is a freak nearly as shunned as me."He looked the man over for a moment and found he had to ask..."I assume you want something, right? And it's probably something you assume I can provide? I hate to tell you friend, but what you see is all there is..."

He turned back towards the door. The place was still crowded. He began shoving people out of his way, glaring at them if they looked at him.

"I'm outta here! You better duck and run, looks like your girlfriend is coming back this way..." he shouted to the surfer. He put his earplugs back in and turned up the music again.

« Last Edit: February 22, 2007, 12:16:19 AM by the Wanderer »

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"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." ~Henry L Mencken

"Tha-Hell? was...that he said?" Greg, was trying to focus now, his head swimming. Making a dash for the door, on mystery-man's heels, he tried to navigate behind and through "Pale Moses" suddenly parting tunnel of bodies, while avoiding as much physical contact with falling and scattering kids as possible. Ahead he spied the bouncer, the man's face in deep growl mode, and heading directly for Goth-Man.

Sprint, Duck, Roll, Greg thought, or, umm, something like that. Manuevering to get out the door as quickly as humanly possible, he would leave the mad man to his own devices.

Besides, he was starving! And across the street in the bus depo, he had earlier spied a vending machine.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"Hey! Watch it, ya freak-boy!" A large drunken man reeled as Poe pushed him out of the way, then lunged at him, grabbing him by the coat. "You should aplo... apola... apag... say yer sorry if yew bump inta som'un!" He shook Poe, a wave of whiskey breath rolling over the young man.

----------------------------------------------------------------

As Greg staggered towards the vending machine, he noticed a business man and a preist confronting each other. The business man looked sort of pissed. Crazy people, he thought blearily.

Sophia stubbed out her cigarette in one of the small metal ashtrays that littered the counter. She felt a pang of guilt as she saw her cigarette had made the head of the bus line mascot into a black smudge. Peters had looked blackened as they pulled him out of outer containment area of the reactor, but unlike this figure of paint baked into hard metal, Peters had been bloated and soft to the touch. She could almost feel the gush of fluids from his greasy skin as she tried to bandage him up before she herself went into that little slice of hell.

A wave of nausea washed over her, partly from the memory and partly from too many cigarettes in too short a time. She needed something in her stomach.

Poe stood still, slowing his breath as best he could. He listened to his heartbeat for a moment.He looked up at the man slowly, never lifting his head to face him fully. His long black hair hung across his face in places. He was reminded of the picture of "City Park" in New Orleans he saw in the hospital. The live oaks hung heavily with Spanish moss, giving the trees a menacing look. Wonder if it'll work for me...

"Let go" Poe growled softly. He raised his head slightly so the drunken man could he his grin. He knew that in a pinch he could kick him in the crotch, he was wearing steel toed engineer boots after all. He kept his composure. Shallow breath, already pale skin, and the contrast of his dark attire would help right now. He still hadn't blinked.

He shifted his weight forward so he could use his other foot freely if needed. He was too close to this drunkard already, he could smell his breath. "Planning something?" he smiled "If so I suggest we take this outside. I'm not fond of witnesses, they always interrupt and call the police." He let more teeth show as he continued to raise his head and give this fool a maniac's grin. "I want this to last a while, I haven't eaten in days!" He bit down on the side of his tongue...hard. He let a trickle of blood run from the corner of his insane smile.

(OOC: Um...I know I'm not really intimidating, but really! I'm a freak in a trendy bar! I'm just trying to creep the guy out so he'll let me go.)

« Last Edit: February 22, 2007, 08:53:22 AM by the Wanderer »

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"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." ~Henry L Mencken

Michael blinked as the man's thoughts unexpectedly echoed in his mind. Well glory be, maybe this is a gift, he thought.

"That may be, friend," he stammered, "but you won't be helping Jay or anyone out by doing what you're trying to do." The preist's face turned bright red as the words fell out of his mouth. He wasn't quite sure that he was saying them, almost like he was listening to someone else's conversation. The businessman paused. Great, he's going to kill me, Michael thought. St. Mikey of Savannah, martyr of charity they'll call me. He could see the icon now: a priest in cassock getting hit by a bus. Michael braced himself for the man's (assuredly violent) reaction.

The drunk stared at Poe for a minute, then backed down. "Ain't worth the effort," he grumbled. He let go of Poe's coat. "Ain't no one can say I ain't a fergivin' sort." Then he headed back to the bar, trying to get away from the goth without seeming to be trying to get away. No one else seemed inclined to take his place._____________________________________________________________________________

Mikey

The business man's eyes bulged a little as he stared at the priest. It looked like he was trying to decide if he was frightened or angry. He settled on angry, and grabbed Mikey's cassock, pulling him to within a couple of inches. "Who are you?" he snarled. "What do you know?!" He shook Mikey, and there was an edge of hysteria in his eyes and voice. He was, Mikey thought, quite possibly about to get violent.

People were starting to notice the confrontation, though most seemed inclined to ignore it. Across the terminal, a bus pulled in.

Anat watched the priest approach a businessman and begin speaking to him. At least it's not me that he's trying to convert. She took another drag on her cigarette as she watched. Their conversation seemed tense. When the man grabbed the priest by the collar, Anatiel was on her feet. Then, of course, a bus pulled up. With a moment of conflict between finally getting home or preventing a man of faith from getting pulverized she chose the latter. She was upon them in a flash, though she had to focus hard to prevent from falling over her own feet. She grabbed the man by wrist as he still held the priest. "Now, I'm no nun, but I bet there's a special place in the fires of hell for those who've messed up a defenseless man of faith." She used all of her concentration to keep from wobbling and gave the businessman the most dangerous look she could muster. She thought frantically about what she could use as a weapon, fearing that she would soon be the recipient of the man's anger. All she had was a lit cigarette in her other hand, a pack in her pocket, some change and a lighter. She stood only 5' 7" and was starting to regret a decision to step into a fight.

The business man jumped as Anat grabbed his wrist. He had a wild look in his eyes, and for a moment, she thought he was going to do worse than just hit her. He jerked his hand away, his eyes darting from one to the other. Before he could actually take action, however, he was interrupted again. "Hey, woah, woah, easy, mate!" A tall, thin red haired man in a rumpled looking suit threw an arm around his shoulders. "Les' not get out of hand." He grinned affably at Anat and Mikey. "Sorry bout that, padre. Gettin' shunted all across the country can make anyone a little... cranky, and Eric 'ere's been going nonstop since Portland. As you can imagine, he's a bit strung out."

The man, Eric apparently, calmed down almost as soon as the red-head arrived. His face relaxed into a normal expression, and he nodded in agreement. "I apologize for my rude behavior, Father." He turned to Anat. "Thank you for stopping me from doing something regrettable, miss. Like he said, I've been up for quite a while, and it's telling on me." He nodded again.

The tall red-head started steering him away. "C'mon, mate, let's get you back to the hotel, so you can get some sleep. We don't have to leave until tomorrow afternoon anyhow..."

Michael finally exhaled a sigh of relief as Eric the businessman was escorted away by the Englishman. There was something odd about - well, everything that had just occured was odd. But in particular, Mikey could have sworn he saw a glint of metal, perhaps some sort of needle, flash from the Englishman's hand just before Eric had calmed. Perhaps one was a mental patient and the other his doctor. Even then, the events still made little sense. "Oh, saints," Michael murmured, nervously rubbing his hands down his face. It wasn't the first time someone had confronted him with violence - that short stint as a minister to the deeply impovrished was often far worse - but this seemed like one more strange event on a stack of others. Even a camel's back could only take so much straw...

The priest blinked as he suddenly noticed Anat again. "Thanks, I owe you one," he said with a small smile. Mikey recognized her: the drunk woman who had rushed past him towards the ticket booth. It didn't faze him; he had decided long ago that angels came in many forms and fashions.

Michael looked across the street. The goth kid was out of view now, hopefully in less trouble than he was just in. He turned back to the woman who had just potentially saved his life. "Name's Mikey O'Rourke," he said, extending a hand.

Jader didn't notice the priest and the businessman's confrontation until the drunk girl had joined in. It was over well before he'd gotten near them, hearing only the priest introducing himself to her before he started on his way to the bus.

« Last Edit: February 23, 2007, 09:01:02 PM by Pariah »

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For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

John blinked. He had dozed off in the minutes between the bus driver's last coment and this one. Guess he just wasn't the type to be up at all hours of day and night. Good thing I'm not a superhero or anything. I don't know that I could take it.

Disembarking the bus, he paid his fair to the box beside the driver and looked around. Where was the man he was looking for?

Anat didn't realize she was holding her breath until the man had released his grip on the priest. She continued to stare him down until his red-headed friend came up and put an arm around him. She let out a sigh of relief and concentration. I hate when people know I'm drunk. Drunk girls are so trashy. she thought. The man, Eric, apologized to them both. Anat merely nodded and took a drag from her cigarette to prevent herself from yelling at the business man. learn some self control, coke-head. She was getting a rush of confidence now that he had backed down. "Well, it's a good thing I was here..." was all that she said to him. She watched the men walk away as she fished the crumpled ticket out of her pocket. The priest introduced himself as Mikey. She looked up from her ticket and took his hand. "Anatiel Kehstose, but you can call me Anat... or Ana, or Auntie Anat, or Baby..." WHAT!!? "I mean... forget that last one..." I drank too much, how trashy. Anat thought again as she took another drag of her cigarette and focused on acting sober. She looked back down at her ticket and then at the bus that was getting ready to leave. There are too many buses here.... wait... I'm in a bus station. Why can't the one I need have neon lights on it and two hot guys with no shirts come and escort me onto it...I'd never miss a bus again! She furrowed her brow trying to match up the numbers but was having problems focusing on the ticket. She dropped her cigarette on the ground and put it out with her shoe